The One Tree

them a taste for ostentation.

Then a stirring passed through the crowd as a man breasted his way out onto the pier. He was as swarthy as the men who had rowed the skiff, but his clothing indicated higher rank. He wore a tunic and trousers of a rich black material which shone like satin; his belt had been woven of a vivid silvery metal; and at his right shoulder was pinned a silver cockade like a badge of office. He strode forward as if to show the throng that a ship the size of Starfare's Gem could not daunt him, then stopped below the afterdeck and waited with a glower of impatience for the invitation and the means to come aboard.

At Honninscrave's order, a ladder was set for the black-clad personage. With Pitchwife, Linden moved closer to the ladder. The First and Seadreamer had joined the Master there, and Brinn had brought Covenant up from his cabin. Cail stood behind Linden's left shoulder; Ceer and Hergrom were nearby. Only Vain and Findail chose to ignore the arrival of the Bhrathair.

A moment later, the man climbed through the railing to stand before the assembled company. “I am the Harbour Captain,” he said without preamble. He had a guttural voice which was exaggerated in Linden's ears by the fact that he was not speaking his native language. “You must have my grant in order to berth or do trade here. Give me first your names and the name of your ship.”

Honninscrave glanced at the First; but she did not step forward. To the Harbour Captain, he said evenly, “This vessel is the dromond Starfare's Gem. I am its Master, Grimmand Honninscrave.”

The official made a note on a wax tablet he carried. “And these others?”

Honninscrave stiffened at the man's tone. “They are Giants, and the friends of Giants.” Then he added, “In times past, the Giants were deemed allies among the Bhrathair.”

“In times past,” the Harbour Captain retorted with a direct glare, “the world was not what it is. My duty cares nothing for dead alliances. If you do not deal openly with me, my judgment will be weighed against you.”

The First's eyes gnashed with ready anger; but her hand gripped an empty scabbard, and she held herself still. Swallowing his vexation with an effort, Honninscrave named his companions.

The Bhrathair wrote officiously on his tablet. “Very well,” he said as he finished. “What is your cargo?”

“Cargo?” echoed Honninscrave darkly. “We have no cargo.”

“None?” the Harbour Captain snapped in sudden indignation. “Have you not come to do trade with us?”

The Master folded his arms across his massive chest. “No.”

“Then you are mad. What is your purpose?”

“Your eyes will tell you our purpose.” The Giant's voice grated like boulders rubbing together. “We have suffered severe harm in a great storm. We come seeking stone with which to work repairs and replenishment for our stores.”

“Paugh!” spat the Bhrathair. “You are ignorant, Giant-or a fool.” He spoke like the heat, as if his temper had been formed by the constant oppression of the desert sun. “We are the Bhrathair, not some peasant folk you may intimidate with your bulk. We live on the verge of the Great Desert, and our lives are exigent. What comfort we possess, we gain from trade. I grant nothing when I am offered nothing in return. If you have no cargo, you must purchase what you desire by some other coin. If you lack such coin, you must depart. That is my word.”

Honninscrave held himself still; but he looked ready for any peril. “And if we do not choose to depart? Should you seek combat from us, you will learn to your cost that two-score Giants are not blithely beaten.”

The Harbour Captain did not hesitate; his confidence in his office was complete. 'If you choose neither payment nor departure, your ship will be destroyed before nightfall. No man or woman here will lift hand against you. You will be free to go ashore, thieve all you desire. And while you do so, five galleasses with catapults will batter your ship with such stones and exploding fires that it will fall to rubble where it sits.'

For a moment, the Master of Starfare's Gem did not respond. Linden feared that he had no response, that she had made a fatal mistake in choosing to come here. No one moved or spoke.

Overhead, a few birds flitted downward to investigate the dromond, then scaled away again.

Quietly, Honninscrave said, “Sevinhand.” His voice carried to the Anchormaster on the wheeldeck. “Secure the dromond for assault. Prepare to forage supplies and depart. Galewrath.” The Storesmaster stood nearby. “Take this Harbour Captain.” At once, she stepped forward, clamped one huge fist around the Bhrathair's neck. “He is swift to call down harm upon the needy. Let him share whatever harm we suffer.”

“Fools!” The official tried to rage, but the indignity of Galewrath's grasp made him look apoplectic and wild. “There is no wind! You are trapped until the evening breeze!”

“Then you are likewise snared,” replied Honninscrave evenly. “For the while, we will content ourselves by teaching your Harbour to comprehend the wrath of Giants. Our friendship was not lightly given in the need of the Bhrathair against the Sandgorgons. You will learn that our enmity may not be lightly borne.”

Commotion broke out among the onlookers around the levee. Instinctively, Linden swung around to see if they meant to attack the dromond.

In a moment, she perceived that their activity was not a threat. Rather, the throng was being roughly parted by five men on horseback.

Riding destriers as black as midnight, the five forced their way forward. They were clearly soldiers. Over their black shirts and leggings, they wore breastplates and greaves of a silverine metal; and they had quivers and crossbows at their backs, short swords at their sides, shields on their arms. As they broke out of the crowd, they stretched their mounts into a gallop down the pier, then reined sharply to a halt at the dromond's ladder.

Four of them remained astride their horses; the fifth, who wore an emblem like a black sun in the centre of his breastplate, dismounted swiftly and leaped at the ladder. Quickly, he gained the afterdeck. Ceer, Hergrom, and the Giants poised themselves; but the soldier did not challenge them. He cast a glance of appraisal around the deck, then turned on the official half dangling in Galewrath's grip and began to shout at him.

The soldier spoke a brackish language which Linden did not understand-the native tongue of the Bhrathair. The Harbour Captain's replies were somewhat choked by Galewrath's fist; but he seemed to be defending himself. At the same time, Pitchwife gave Linden's shoulder a gentle nudge. When she looked at him, he winked deliberately. With a start, she remembered the Giantish gift of tongues-and remembered to keep it secret. The rest of the Giants remained expressionless.

After a yell which made the Harbour Captain appear especially crestfallen, the soldier faced Honninscrave and the First. “Your pardon,” he said. “The Harbour Captain's duty is clear, but he comprehends it narrowly”-the venom of his tone was directed at the official-“and understands little else at all. I am Rire Grist, Caitiffin of the gaddhi's Horse. The coming of your ship was seen in the Sandhold, and I was sent to give welcome. Alas, I was delayed in the crowded streets and did not arrive in time to prevent misapprehension.”

Before Honninscrave could speak, the Caitiffin went on, “You may release this duty-proud man. He understands now that you must be given every aid in his grant, for the sake of the old friendship of the Giants, and also in the name of the gaddhi's will. I am certain that all your wants will be answered promptly-and courteously,” he added over his shoulder to the Harbour Captain. “Will you not free him?”

“In a moment,” Honninscrave rumbled. “It would please me to hear you speak further concerning the gaddhi's will toward us.”

“Assuredly,” replied Rire Grist with a bow. “Rant Absolain, gaddhi of Bhrathairealm, wishes you well. He desires that you be granted the fullest welcome of your need. And he asks those among you who may be spared from the labour of your ship to be his guests in the Sandhold. Neither he nor his Kemper, Kasreyn of the Gyre, have known Giants, and both are anxious to rectify their lack.”

“You speak hospitably,” Honninscrave's tone was noncommittal. “But you will understand that our confidence has been somewhat daunted. Grant a moment for consultation with my friends.”